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RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 



By JOHN BROWN, M. D. 




BOSTON: 
TICKNOR AND FIELDS. 

MDCCCLIX. 



1**1 



Riverside, Cambridge : 
Stereotyped and Printed by 

H. O. Houghton & Co. 



To my TWO FRIENDS 
at Busby, Renfrewshire, 

In Remembrance of a Journey from Carstairs Junction 
to Toledo and back. 



RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. 

POUR-AND-THIRTY years ago, Bob 
Ainslie and I were coming up Infirmary 
Street from the High School, our heads to- 
gether, and our arms intertwisted, as only 
lovers and boys know how or why. 

When we got to the top of the street, and 
turned north, we espied a crowd at the Tron 
Church. "A dog-fight!" shouted Bob, and 
was off; and so was I,«both of us all but pray- 
ing that it might not be over before we got 
up! And is not this boy-nature*? and human 
nature too ? and don't we all wish a house on 
fire not to be out before we see it? Dogs like 
fighting ; old Isaac says they " delight " in it, 
and for the best of all reasons ; and boys are 
not cruel because they like to see the fight. 
They see three of the great cardinal virtues 
of dog or man — courage, endurance, and 



6 Rab and his Friends. 

skill — in intense action. This is very differ- 
ent from a love of making dogs fight, and 
enjoying, and aggravating, and making gain 
by their pluck. A boy— be he ever so fond 
himself of fighting, if he be a good boy, hates 
and despises all this, but he would have run off 
with Bob and me fast enough: it is a natural, 
and a not wicked interest, that all boys and men 
have in witnessing intense energy in action. 

Does any curious and finely-ignorant wom- 
an wish to know how Bob's eye at a glance 
announced a dog-fight to his brain? He did 
not, he could not see the dogs fighting; it 
was a flash of an inference, a rapid induction. 
The crowd round a couple of dogs fighting, 
is a crowd masculine mainly, with an occa- 
sional active, compassionate woman, flutter- 
ing wildly round the outside, and using her 
tongue and her hands freely upon the men, 
as so many "brutes;" it is a crowd annular, 
compact, and mobile; a crowd centripetal, 
having its eyes and its heads all bent down- 
wards and inwards, to one common focus. 

Well, Bob and I are up, and find it is not 
over: a small thoroughbred, white bull-terrier, 
is busy throttling a large shepherd's dog, unac- 



Rab and his Friends. J 

customed to war, but not to be trifled with. 
They are hard at it; the scientific little fellow 
doing his work in great style, his pastoral ene- 
my fighting wildly, but with the sharpest of 
teeth and a great courage. Science and breed- 
ing, however, soon had their own; the Game 
Chicken, as the premature Bob called him, 
working his way up, took his final grip of 
poor Yarrow's throat,— and he lay gasping 
and done for. His master, a brown, hand- 
some, big young shepherd from Tweedsmuir, 
would have liked to have knocked down any 
man, would "drink up Esil, or eat a croco- 
dile," for that part, if he had a chance : it was 
no use kicking the little dog; that would only 
make him hold the closer. Many were the 
means shouted out in mouthfuls, of the best 
possible ways of ending it. "Water!" but 
there was none near, and many cried for it 
who might have got it from the well at Black- 
friars Wynd. "Bite the tail!" and a large, 
vague, benevolent, middle-aged man, more 
desirous than wise, with some struggle got 
the bushy end of Yarrow's tail into his ample 
mouth, and bit it with all his might. This 
Was more than enough for the much-enduring, 



8 Rab and his Friends. 

much-perspiring shepherd, who, with a gleam 
of joy over his broad visage, delivered a terrific 
facer upon our large, vague, benevolent, mid- 
dle-aged friend, — who went down like a shot. 

Still the Chicken holds; death not far off. 
"SnufF! a pinch of snuff!" observed a calm, 
highly-dressed young buck, with an eye-glass 
in his eye. " SnufF, indeed ! " growled the an- 
gry crowd, affronted and glaring. "Snuff! a 
pinch of snuff!" again observes the buck, but 
with more urgency; whereupon were produced 
several open boxes, and from a mull which 
may have been at Culloden, he took a pinch, 
knelt down, and presented it to the nose of 
the Chicken. The laws of physiology and 
of snuff take their course; the Chicken 
sneezes, and Yarrow is free. 

The young pastoral giant stalks off with 
Yarrow in his arms, — comforting him. 

But the Bull Terrier's blood is up, and his 
soul unsatisfied; he grips the first dog he 
meets, and discovering she is not a dog, in 
Homeric phrase, he makes a brief sort of 
amende, and is off. The boys, with Bob and 
me at their head, are after him : down Niddry 
Street he goes, bent on mischief; up the 



Rab and his Friends. 9 

Cowgate, like an arrow — Bob and I, and 
our small men, panting behind. 

There, under the single arch of the South 
Bridge, is a huge mastiff, sauntering down the 
middle of the causeway, as if with his hands 
in his pockets : he is old, gray, brindled, as big 
as a little Highland bull, and has the Shaks- 
perian dewlaps shaking as he goes. 

The Chicken makes straight at him, and 
fastens on his throat. To our astonishment, 
the great creature does nothing but stand still, 
hold himself up, and roar — yes, roar; a long, 
serious, remonstrative roar. How is this? Bob 
and I are up to them. He is muzzled! The 
bailies had proclaimed a general muzzling, and 
his master, studying strength and economy 
mainly, had encompassed his huge jaws in a 
home-made apparatus, constructed out of the 
leather of some ancient breechin. His mouth 
was open as far as it could ; his lips curled up 
in rage — a sort of terrible grin; his teeth 
gleaming, ready, from out the darkness; the 
strap across his mouth tense as, a bowstring; 
his whole frame stiff with indignation and sur- 
prise; his roar asking us all round, "Did you 
ever seethe like of this?" He looked a statue 



10 Rab and his Friends. 

of anger and astonishment, done in Aberdeen 
granite. 

We soon had a crowd: the Chicken held on. 
"A knife!" cried Bob; and a cobbler gave 
him his knife: you know the kind of knife, 
worn away obliquely to a point, and always 
keen. I put its edge to the tense leather ; it 
raft before it; and then! — one sudden jerk of 
that enormous head, a sort of dirty mist about 
his mouth, no noise, — and the bright and fierce 
little fellow is dropped, limp, and dead. A 
solemn pause: this was more than any of us 
had bargained for. I turned the little fellow 
over, and saw he was quite dead : the mastiff 
had taken him by the small of the back, like 
a rat, and broken it. 

He looked down at his victim appeased, 
ashamed and amazed ; snuffed him all over, 
stared at him, and taking a sudden thought, 
turned round and trotted off. Bob took the 
dead dog up, and said, "John, we'll bury him 
after tea." "Yes," said I, and was off after the 
mastiff. He. made up the Cowgate at a rapid 
swing; he had forgotten some engagement. 
He turned up the Candlemaker Row, and 
stopped at the Harrow Inn. 



Rab and his Friends. 1 1 

There was a carrier's cart ready to start, and 
a keen, thin, impatient, black-a- vised little man, 
his hand at his gray horse's head, looking about 
angrily for something. " Rab, ye thief!" said 
he, aiming a kick at my great friend, who drew 
cringing up, and avoiding the heavy shoe with 
more agility than dignity, and watching his 
master's eye, slunk dismayed under the cart, 

— his ears down, and as much as he had of 
tail down too. 

What a man this must be — thought I — to 
whom my tremendous hero turns tail ! The 
carrier saw the muzzle hanging, cut and use- 
less, from his neck, and I eagerly told him the 
story, which Bob and I always thought, and 
still think, Homer, or King David, or Sir 
Walter, alone were worthy to rehearse. The 
severe little man was mitigated, and conde- 
scended to say, " Rab, ma man, puir Rabbie," 

— whereupon the stump of a tail rose up, the 
ears were cocked, the eyes filled, and were 
comforted; the two friends were reconciled. 
" Hupp ! " and a stroke of the whip were 
given to Jess ; and off went the three. 

• Bob and I buried the Game Chicken that 



12 Rab and his Friends. 

night (we had not much of a tea) in the back- 
green of his house in Melville Street, No. 17, 
with considerable gravity and silence ; and 
being at the time in the Iliad, and, like all 
boys, Trojans, we called him Hector of course. 



QIX years have passed, — a long time for a 
boy and a dog : Bob Ainslie is off to the 
wars ; I am a medical student, and clerk at 
Minto House Hospital. 

Rab I saw almost every week, on the 
Wednesday; and we had much pleasant in- 
timacy. I found the way to his heart by 
frequent scratching of his huge head, and an 
occasional bone. When I did not notice him 
he would plant himself straight before me, 
and stand wagging that bud of a tail, and 
looking up, with his head a little to the one 
side. His master I occasionally saw; he 
used to call me " Maister John," but was 
laconic as any Spartan. 

One fine October afternoon, I was leaving 
the hospital, when I saw the large gate open, 
and in walked Rab, with that great and easy 



Rab and his Friends. 13 

saunter of his. He looked as if taking general 
possession of the place; like the Duke of 
Wellington entering a subdued city, satiated 
with victory and peace. After him came Jess, 
now white from age, with her cart ; and in it 
a woman, carefully wrapped up, — the carrier 
leading the horse anxiously, and looking back. 
When he saw me, James (for his name was 
James Noble) made a curt and grotesque 
" boo," and said, " Maister John, this is the 
mistress ; she's got a trouble in her breest — 
some kind o' an income we're thinkin'." 

By this time I saw the woman's face ; she 
was sitting on a sack filled with straw, her 
husband's plaid round her, and his big-coat, 
with its large white metal buttons, over her feet. 

I never saw a more unforge table face — pale, 
serious, lonely} delicate, sweet, without being at 
all what we call fine. She looked sixty, and 
had on a mutch, white as snow, with its black 
ribbon ; her silvery, smooth hair setting off 
her dark-gray eyes — eyes such as one sees 
only twice or thrice in a lifetime, full of suf- 



1 It is not easy giving this look by one word ; it was ex- 
pressive of her being so much of her life alone. 



14 R&b and his Friends. 

fering, full also of the overcoming of it : her 
eyebrows black and delicate, and her mouth 
firm, patient, and contented, which few mouths 
ever are. 

As I have said, I never saw a more beauti- 
ful countenance, or one more subdued to set- 
tled quiet. " Ailie," said James, "this is Mais- 
ter John, the young doctor ; Rab's freend, ye 
ken. We often speak aboot you, doctor." She 
smiled, and made a movement, but said noth- 
ing ; and prepared to come down, putting her 
plaid aside and rising. Had Solomon, in all 
his glory, been handing down the Queen of 
Sheba at his palace gate, he could not have 
done it more daintily, more tenderly, more like 
a gentleman, than did James the Howgate 
carrier, when he lifted down Ailie his wife. 

The contrast of his small, swarthy, weather- 
beaten, keen, worldly face to hers — pale, sub- 
dued, and beautiful — was something wonder- 
ful. Rab looked on concerned and puzzled, 
but ready for anything that might turn up, — 
were it to strangle the nurse, the porter, or even 
me. Ailie and he seemed great friends. 

" As I was sayin', she's got a kind o' trouble 
in her breest, doctor ; wull ye tak' a look at 



Rab and his Friends. 15 

it*?" We walked into the consulting-room, 
all four ; Rab grim and comic, willing to be 
happy and confidential if cause could be 
shown, willing also to be the reverse, on the 
same terms. Ailie sat down, undid her open 
gown and her lawn handkerchief round her 
neck, and, without a word, showed me her 
right breast. I looked at and examined it 
carefully, — she and James watching me, and 
Rab eyeing all three. What could I say ? 
there it was, that had once been so soft, so 
shapely, so white, so gracious and bountiful, 
so "full of all blessed conditions," — hard as 
a stone, a centre of horrid pain, making that 
pale face, with its gray, lucid, reasonable eyes, 
and its sweet resolved mouth, express the full 
measure of suffering overcome. Why was that 
gentle, modest, sweet woman, clean and lovea- 
ble, condemned by God to bear such a burden? 
I got her away to bed. " May Rab and me 
bide?" said James. "Ton may; and Rab, if 
he will behave himself." " I'se warrant he's do 
that, doctor ; " and in slunk the faithful beast. 
I wish you could have seen him. There are 
no such dogs now. He belonged to a lost tribe. 
As I have said, he was brindled, and gray like 



16 Rab and his Friends, 

Rubislaw granite ; his hair short, hard, and 
close, like a lion's ; his body thick set, like a 
little bull — a sort of compressed Hercules of a 
dog. He must have been ninety pounds' 
weight, at the least ; he had a large blunt head ; 
his muzzle black as night, his mouth blacker 
than any night, a tooth or two — being all he 
had — gleaming out of his jaws of darkness. 
His head was scarred with the records of old 
wounds, a sort of series of fields of battle all 
over it ; one eye out, one ear cropped as close 
as was Archbishop Leigh ton's father's ; the re- 
maining eye had the power of two ; and above 
it, and in constant communication with it, was 
a tattered rag of an ear, which was forever 
unfurling itself, like an old flag; and then that 
bud of a tail, about one inch long, if it could 
in any sense be said to be long, being as broad 
as long — the mobility, the instantaneousness 
of that bud were very funny and surprising, 
and its expressive twinklings and winkings, 
the intercommunications between the eye, the 
ear and it, were of the oddest and swiftest. 

Rab had the dignity and simplicity of great 
size ; and having fought his way all along the 
road to absolute supremacy, he was as mighty 



Rab and his Friends. 17 

in his own line as Julius Cassar pr the Duke 
of Wellington, and had the gravity 1 of all 
great fighters. 

You must have often observed the likeness 
of certain men to certain animals, and of cer- 
tain dogs to men. Now, I never looked at 
Rab without thinking of the great Baptist 
preacher, Andrew Fuller. 2 The same large, 
heavy, menacing, combative, sombre, honest 
countenance, the same deep inevitable eye, 
the same look, — as of thunder asleep, but 



1 A Highland gamekeeper, when asked why a certain ter- 
rier, of singular pluck, was so much more solemn than the 
other dogs, said, " Oh, Sir, life's full o' sairiousness to him — 
he just never can get enufF o' fechtin'." 

2 Fuller was, in early life, when a farmer-lad at Soham, fa- 
mous as a boxer ; not quarrelsome, but not without " the stern 
delight " a man of strength and courage feels in their exercise. 
Dr. Charles Stewart, of Dunearn, whose rare gifts and graces 
as a physician, a divine, a scholar and a gentleman, live 
only in the memory of those few who knew and survive 
him, liked to tell how Mr. Fuller used to say, that when 
he was in the pulpit, and saw a buirdly man come along 
the passage, he would instinctively draw himself up, meas- 
ure his imaginary antagonist, and forecast how he would deal 
with him, his hands meanwhile condensing into fists, and 
tending to "square." He must have been a hard hitter if he 
boxed as he preached — what " The Fancy" would call " an 
ugly customer." 

2 



i8 Rab and his Friends. 

ready, — neither a dog nor a man to be trifled 
with. 

Next day, my master, the surgeon, exam- 
ined Ailie. There was no doubt it must kill 
her, and soon. It could be removed — it might 
never return — it would give her speedy relief 
— she should have it done. She curtsied, 
looked at James, and said, "When?" "To- 
morrow," said the kind surgeon — a man of 
few words. She and James and Rab and I 
retired. I noticed that he and she spoke little, 
but seemed to anticipate everything in each 
other. The following day at noon, the stu- 
dents came in, hurrying up the great stair. 
At the first landing-place, on a small well- 
known black board, was a bit of paper fas- 
tened by wafers, and many remains of old 
wafers beside it. On the paper were the 
words, — "An operation to-day.- J. B. Clerk" 

Up ran the youths, eager to secure good 
places: in they crowded, full of interest and 
talk. "What's the case?" "Which side is it?" 

Don't think them heartless ; they are neither 
better nor worse than you or I : they get over 
their professional horrors, and into their propei 
work ; and in them pity — as an emotion, end- 



Rab and his Friends. lg 

ing in itself or at best in tears and a long- 
drawn breath, lessens, while pity as a motive, 
is quickened, and gains power and purpose. 
It is well for poor human nature that it is so. 

The operating theatre is crowded; much 
talk and fun, and all the cordiality and stir of 
youth. The surgeon with his staff of assistants 
is there. In comes Allie: one look at her quiets 
and abates the eager students. That beautiful 
old woman is too much for them; they sit 
down, and are dumb, and gaze at her. These 
rough boys feel the power of her presence. She 
walks in quickly, but without haste; dressed in 
her mutch, her neckerchief, her white dimity 
short-gown, her black bombazine petticoat, 
showing her white worsted stockings and her 
carpet-shoes. Behind her was James with Rab. 
James sat down in the distance, and took that 
huge and noble head between his knees. Rab 
looked perplexed and dangerous; forever cock- 
ing his ear and dropping it as fast. 

Ailie stepped up on a seat, and laid herself 
on the table, as her friend the surgeon told her; 
arranged herself, gave a rapid look at James, 
shut her eyes, rested herself on me, and took 
my hand. The operation was at once begun; 



20 Rab and his Friends. 

it was necessarily slow; and chloroform — one 
of God's best gifts to his suffering children — 
was then unknown. The surgeon did his 
work. The pale face showed its pain, but was 
still and silent. Rab's soul was working with- 
in him; he saw that something strange was 
going on, — blood flowing from his mistress, 
and she suffering; his ragged ear was up, and 
importunate; he growled and gave now and 
then a sharp impatient yelp; he would have 
liked to have done something to that man. 
But James had him firm, and gave him a 
glower from time to time, and an intimation 
of a possible kick; — all the better for James, 
it kept his eye and his mind off Ailie. 

It is over: she is dressed, steps gently and 
decently down from the table, looks for James; 
then, turning to the surgeon and the students, 
she curtsies, — and in a low, clear voice, begs 
their pardon if she has behaved ill. The stu- 
dents — all of us — wept like children; the sur- 
geon happed her up carefully, — and, resting 
on James and me, Ailie went to her room, 
Rab following. We put her to bed. James 
took off his heavy shoes, crammed with tackets, 
heel-capt and toe-capt, and put them carefully 



Rab and his Friends. . 21 

under the table, saying, "Maister John, I'm for 
nane o'yer strynge nurse bodies for Ailie. I'll 
be her nurse, and I'll gang aboot on my stock- 
in' soles as canny as pussy." And so he did; 
and handy and clever, and swift and tender as 
any woman, was that horny-handed, snell, per- 
emptory little man. Everything she got he 
gave her: he seldom slept; and often I saw 
his small shrewd eyes out of the darkness, 
fixed on her. As before, they spoke little. 

Rab behaved well, never moving, showing 
us how meek and gentle he could be, and occa- 
sionally, in his sleep, letting us know that he was 
demolishing some adversary. He took a walk 
with me every day, generally to the Candle- 
maker Row; but he was sombre and mild; de- 
clined doing battle, though som'e fit cases of- 
fered, and indeed submitted to sundry indigni- 
ties; and was always very ready to turn and 
came faster back, and trotted up the stair with 
much lightness, and went straight to that door. 

Jess, the mare, had been sent, with her weath- 
er-worn cart, to Howgate, and had doubtless her 
own dim and placid meditations and confusions, 
on the absence of her master and Rab, and her 
unnatural freedom from the road and her cart. 



22 Rab and his Friends. 

For some days Ailie did well. The wound 
healed "by the first intention;" for* as James 
said, "Oor Ailie's skin's ower clean to beil." 
The students came in quiet and anxious, and 
surrounded her bed. She said she liked to see 
their young, honest faces. The surgeon dressed 
her, and spoke to her in his own short kind 
way, pitying her through his eyes, Rab and 
James outside the circle, — Rab being now re- 
conciled, and even cordial, and having made 
up his mind that as yet nobody required wor- 
rying, but, as you may suppose, semper par atus. 

So far well: but, four days after the operation 
my patient had a sudden and long shivering, a 
"groosin'," as she called it. I saw her soon 
after; her eyes were too bright, her cheek col- 
ored; she was restless, and ashamed of being 
so; the balance was lost; mischief had begun. 
On looking at the wound, a blush of red told 
the secret: her pulse was rapid, her breathing 
anxious and quick, she wasn't herself, as she 
said, and was vexed at her restlessness. We 
tried what we could. James did everything, was 
everywhere; never in the way, never out of it. 
Rab subsided under the table into a dark place, 
and was motionless, all but his eye, which fol- 



Rab and his Friends, 23 

lowed every one. Ailie got worse ; began to 
wander in her mind, gently ; was more demon- 
strative in her ways to James, rapid in her 
questions, and sharp at times. He was vexed, 
and said, " She was never that way afore ; no, 
never." For a time she knew her head was 
wrong, and was always asking our pardon — 
the dear, gentle old woman : then delirium set 
in strong, without pause. Her brain gave 
way, and then came that terrible spectacle, 

" The intellectual power, through words and things, 
Went sounding on its dim and perilous way ; " 

she sang bits of old songs and Psalms, stopping 
suddenly, mingling the Psalms of David, and 
the diviner words of his Son and Lord, with 
homely odds and ends and scraps of ballads. 

Nothing more touching, or in a sense more 
strangely beautiful, did I ever witness. Her 
tremulous, rapid, affectionate, eager, Scotch 
voice, — the swift, aimless, bewildered mind, 
the baffled utterance, the bright and perilous 
eye ; some wild words, some household cares, 
something for James, the names of the dead, 
Rab called rapidly and in a 4i fremyt" voice, 
and he starting up, surprised, and slinking off 



24 Rab and his Friends. 

as if he were to blame somehow, or had been 
dreaming he heard. Many eager questions 
and beseechings which James and I could 
make nothing of, and on which she seemed to 
set her all, and then sink back ununderstood. 
It was very sad, but better than many things 
that are not called sad. James hovered about, 
put out and miserable, but active and exact as 
ever ; read to her, when there was a lull, short 
bits from the Psalms, prose and metre, chant- 
ing the latter in his own rude and serious way, 
showing great knowledge of the fit words, 
bearing up like a man, and doating over her 
as his "ain Ailie." "Ailie, ma woman!" 
" Ma ain bonnie wee dawtie ! " 

The end was drawing on : the golden bowl 
was breaking; the silver cord was fast being 
loosed — that animula blandula. vagula, hospes^ 
comesque, was about to flee. The body and 
the soul — companions for sixty years — were 
being sundered, and taking leave. She was 
walking, alone, through the valley of that 
shadow, into which one day we must all enter, 
— and yet she was not alone, for we know 
whose rod and staff were comforting her. 

One night she had fallen quiet, and as we 



Rab and his Friends. 25 

hoped, asleep ; her eyes were shut. We put 
down the gas, and sat watching her. Suddenly 
she sat up in bed, and taking a bedgown which 
was lying on it rolled up, she held it eagerly 
to her breast, — to the right side. We could 
see her eyes bright with surprising tenderness 
and joy, bending over this bundle of clothes. 
She held it as a woman holds her sucking 
child ; opening out her nightgown impatient- 
ly, and holding it close, and brooding over it, 
and murmuring foolish little words, as over 
one whom his mother comforteth, and who 
sucks and is satisfied. It was pitiful and 
strange . to see her wasted dying look, keen 
and yet vague — her immense love. 

"Preserve me!" groaned James, giving way. 
And then she rocked back and forward, as if to 
make it sleep, hushing it, and wasting on it her 
infinite fondness. " Wae's me, doctor ; I de- 
clare she's thinkin' it's' that bairn." " What 
bairn ?" " The only bairn we ever had ; our 
wee Mysie, and she's in the Kingdom, forty 
years and mair." It was plainly true : the pain 
in the breast telling its urgent story to a be- 
wildered, ruined brain, was misread and mis- 
taken ; it suggested to her the uneasiness of a 



26 Rab and his Friends. 

breast full of milk, and then the child ; and so 
again once more they were together, and she 
had her ain wee Mysie in her bosom. 

This was the close. She sank rapidly: the 
delirium left her; but, as she whispered, she 
was "clean silly ;" it was the lightening before 
the final darkness. After having for some time 
lain still — her eyes shut, she said "James!" 
He came close to her, and lifting up her calm, 
clear, beautiful eyes, she gave him a long look, 
turned to me kindly but shortly, looked for 
Rab but could not see him, then turned to her 
husband again, as if she would never leave off 
looking, shut her eyes, and composed herself. 
She lay for some time breathing quick, and 
passed away so gently, that when we thought 
she was gone, James, in his old-fashioned way, 
held the mirror to her face. After a long 
pause, one small spot of dimness was breathed 
out ; it vanished away, and never returned, 
leaving the blank clear darkness of the mirror 
without a stain. " What is our life? it is even 
a vapor, which appeareth for a little time, and 
then vanisheth away." 

Rab all this time had been full awake and 
motionless ; he came forward beside us : Ailie's 



Rab and his Friends. 27 

hand, which James had held, was hanging 
down; it was soaked with his tears; Rab 
licked it all over carefully, looked at her, 
and returned to his place under the table. 

James and I sat, I don't know how long, 
but for some time, — saying nothing: he started 
up abruptly, and with some noise went to the 
table, and putting his right fore and middle 
fingers each into a shoe, pulled them out, and 
put them on, breaking one of the leather 
latchets, and muttering in anger, "I never 
did the like o' that afore!" 

I believe he never did; nor after either. 
"Rab! " he said roughly, and pointing with his 
thumb to the bottom of the bed. Rab leapt 
up, and settled himself; his head and eye to 
the dead face. "Maister John, ye'll wait for 
me," said the carrier, and disappeared in the 
darkness, thundering down stairs in his heavy 
shoes. I ran to a front window: there he was, 
already round the house, and out at the gate, 
fleeing like a shadow. 

I was afraid about him, and yet not afraid; 
so I sat down beside Rab, and being wearied, 
fell asleep. I awoke from a sudden noise 
outside. It was November, and there had been 



28 Rab and his Friends. 

a. heavy fall of snow. Rab was in statu quo; 
he heard the noise too, and plainly knew it, but 
never moved. I looked out; and there, at the 
gate, in the dim morning — for the sun was not 
up, was Jess and the cart, — a cloud of steam 
rising from the old mare. I did not see James; 
he was already at the door, and came up the 
stairs, and met me. It was less than three 
hours since he left, and he must have posted 
out — who knows how? — to Howgate, full 
nine miles off; yoked Jess, and driven her as- 
tonished into town. He had an armful of 
blankets, and was streaming with perspiration. 
He nodded to me, spread out on the floor 
two pairs of clean old blankets, having at 
their corners, "A. G., 1794," in large letters 
in red worsted. These were the initials of 
Alison Grasme, and James may have looked 
in at her from without — himself unseen but 
not unthought of — when he was "wat, wat, 
and weary," and after having walked many a 
mile over the hills, may have seen her sitting, 
while "a' the lave were sleepin';" and by the 
firelight working her name on the blankets, 
for her ain James's bed. 

He motioned Rab down, and taking his 



Rab and his Friends, 29 

wife in his arms, laid her in the blankets, and 
happed her carefully and firmly up, leaving 
the face uncovered; and then lifting her, he 
nodded again sharply to me, and with a re- 
solved but utterly miserable face, strode along 
the passage, and down stairs, followed by 
Rab. I followed with a light; but he didn't 
need it. I went out, holding stupidly the 
candle in my hand in the calm frosty air; we 
were soon at the gate. I could have helped 
him, but I saw he was not to be meddled with, 
and he was strong, and did not need it. He 
laid her down as tenderly, as safely, as he had 
lifted her out ten days before — as tenderly as 
when he had her first in his arms when she 
was only "A. G.," — sorted her, leaving that 
beautiful sealed face open to the heavens; and 
then taking Jess by the head, he moved away. 
He did not notice me, neither did Rab, who 
presided behind the cart. 

I stood till they passed through the long 
shadow of the College, and turned up Nicol- 
son Street. I heard the solitary cart sound 
through the streets, and die away and come 
agairf; and I returned, thinking of that com- 
pany going up Libberton Brae, then along 



3° 



Rab and his Friends. 



Roslin Muir, the morning light touching the 
Pentlands and making them like on-looking 
ghosts;. then down the hill through Auchin- 
dinny woods, past "haunted Woodhouselee;" 
and as daybreak came sweeping up the bleak 
Lammermuirs, and fell on his own door, the 
company would stop, and James would take 
the key, and lift Ailie up again, laying her on 
her own bed, and, having put Jess up, would 
return with Rab and shut the door. 

James buried his wife, with his neighbors 
mourning, Rab inspecting the solemnity from 
a distance. It was snow, and that black rag- 
ged hole would look strange in the midst of 
the swelling spotless cushion of white. James 
looked after everything; then rather suddenly 
fell ill, and took to bed; was insensible when 
the doctor came, and soon died. A sort of low 
fever was prevailing in the village, and his want 
of sleep, his exhaustion, and his misery, made 
him apt to take it. The grave was not difficult 
to reopen. A fresh fall of snow had again 
made all things white and smooth; Rab once 
more looked on, and slunk home to the stable. 



And what of Rab? I asked for him next 



Rab and his Friends. 31 

week at the new carrier who got the goodwill 
of James's business, and was now master of 
Jess and her cart. "How's Rab?" He put 
me off, and said rather rudely, " What's your 
business wi' the dowg?" I was not to be so 
put off. "Where's Rab?" He, getting con- 
fused and red, and intermeddling with his 
hair, said, "'Deed, sir, Rab's deid." "Dead! 
what did he die of? " " Weel, sir," said he, 
getting redder, "he didna exactly dee; he was 
killed. I had to brain him wi' a rack-pin; 
there was nae doin' wi' him. He lay in the 
treviss wi' the mear, and wadna come oot. I 
tempit him wi' kail and meat, but he wad tak 
naething, and keepit me frae feedin' the beast, 
and he was aye gur gurrin', and grup gruppin' 
me by the legs. I was laith to make awa wi' 
the auld dowg, his like wasna atween this and 
Thornhill, — but, 'deed, sir, I could do nae- 
thing else." I believed him. Fit end for^Rab, 
quick and complete. His teeth and his friends 
gone, why should he keep the peace and be 
civil? 



Cambridge: Riverside Press. 




R A B 



AND HIS FRIENDS 



By JOHN "BROWN, M.D. 







BOSTON: 
TICKNOR AND FIELDS 



MDCCCLIX. 



-fe s -< s& 



s*> - — 









ELEVENTH THOUSAND 

OF 

IDYLS OF THE KII^G. 

By ALFRED TENNYSON, D. C. L. 

POET-LAUREATE. 

1 Vol. 16mo. 75 cents. 



" Mr. Tennyson has enriched the world with his best and most artistic work 

No recent poet has made possible tbe indulgence of such a Midsummer Dream as any person 
may enjoy who goes seaward or lakeward with these Idyls." — London Athenceum. 

"Equal to the best, and in some respects, it may be, better than the best of those works 
upon which the fame of Mr. Tennyson has hitherto securely rested." — London Examiner. 

" Certainly the Laureate's magnum opus.'''' — London Critic. 

" ' Elaine ' is the most beautiful and touching of all the legends connected with the history 
of Arthur, and the story is told with infinite grace." — London Literary Gazette. 

"Every lover of pure and exquisite poetry will be eager to possess this volume, which 
breathes like a balmy wind over the excitements of the day." — Neiv York Tribune. 

"'Idyls of the King' place Tennyson among the foremost men of all his time." — Phila- 
delphia Press. 

" The lovers of poetry will read this volume with delight." — Home Journal. 

"Not since the days of Spenser and Tasso have we iiad such a poem as the ' Idyls of the 
King.' " — Saturday Evening Post. 

" We regard the ' Idyls of the King ' as an almost consummate work of art, and the great 
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"Idyls they are in the best sense of the term — perfect as descriptive poems, beautiful 
and strong in their polished simplicity, and abounding in true gems of poesy." — Hartford 
Times. 

"These 'Idyls of the King' are monuments of a success certainly not surpassed, ii 
equalled, by any modern poet." — Providence Journal. 



TIOKNOE .AJSTD FIELDS. 

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SHELLEY MEMORIALS, 

FROM AUTHENTIC SOURCES. 
EDITED BY 

LADY SHELLEY. 

TO WHICH IS ADDED AN ESSAY ON CHRISTIANITY, 

(NOW FIRST PRINTED,) 

BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 

1 Vol. 16mo. 75 cents. 



The editress of the above volume is the wife of Sir Percy Shelley, 
son of the Poet. She has prepared this volume to correct misstatements 
and erroneous impressions which have prevailed toward Shelley. The 
materials here used are family documents, for the most part new to the 
public. These comprise, among other matter now first published, the 
"Essay on Christianity " and the eloquent "Letter to Lord Ellenbor- 
ough," from Shelley's own pen; new correspondence of Shelley with 
William Godwin, Keats, Horace Smith, Oilier, his publisher, and others, 
and Extracts from the Private Journal of Mrs. Shelley, after the death 
of her husband. All who desire to see the mist dispelled in which mis- 
representation and obloquy have clouded the memory of Shelley, should 
read this volume. 

"The closest approximation to a complete and perfect life of Shelley that has yet been 
furnished." — Boston Transcript. 

" Will be eagerly seized upon by all readers of poetic temperament and cultivated taste." 
—N. Y. Albion. 

" The Essay on Christianity is eminently suggestive and characteristic By far 

the most perfect biography which has appeared."— Christian Register. 

" These Memorials are full of interest. They reveal to us more clearly than we knew before 
the gentle, guileless, noble soul of the Poet."— N. Y. Atlas. 



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